The Beauty of the Mist

by May McGoldrick

  “And you’re missing none of your rings?” Maria pressed.

  “That is also true. I have not lost a single item.” Isabel nodded again. “And I must admit, I was quite careless about them when my shoulder was hurting the worst. And even since I’ve been feeling better, I have left them unattended over and over again.”

  “Correct,” Maria said, casting one last look on the floor. “We have had no thieves stealing about our cabin, Isabel. The ring must have slipped right through these planks. And I think it’s gone.”

  Maria stood and helped Isabel to her feet. Together, they moved into the larger cabin, taking the lamps with them. As the older woman plopped herself into a chair by the table, the younger crossed to the partially open window. She could see the flaring torches on the quay they were tied to, and things being carried from ships docked further down the harbor. Even in the darkness, the port was a bustling place.

  “Would you like a bit of wine, Maria,” Isabel asked, pouring herself a goblet. “It is far too fine to waste, I’d say.”

  “Would any of Charles’s advisors come aboard?” Maria asked, shaking her head at her aunt’s offer. “Do you think Charles himself may come?”

  Isabel stood and moved behind her niece, peering out over her shoulder. “In this instance, I believe we benefit from your brother’s imperial arrogance, my dear. My guess is that he’d love to come aboard a ship as magnificent as this, but he will need to be begged before he’ll do so. But I’m sure, come morning, the Palace will send ministers...perhaps even Count Diego de Guevara, himself...to begin seeing to your comfort for the journey.”

  Maria turned her face and looked at her aunt’s amused expression. “But I’m not there.”

  “True, child. But the Palace will not be admitting that there’s any problem... yet!”

  “Hmm...” Maria looked back out at the dark hulks of ships stretching out into the night. “Charles does, indeed, love large and powerful ships. I believe the Great Michael is larger than any of his new galleons. He’s sure to come.”

  Isabel tossed her head back and strutted around the cabin, putting on the airs of a pompous monarch. Maria turned and stared at her, wide eyed.

  “The world shall come to me and kneel before my throne.” The emperor’s aunt placed a hand on the back of a chair and struck a royal pose. “I am the worthiest of all kings, Holy Roman Emperor by the hand of a pope I installed myself. And you...you in that, ahem, passably good looking ship...you are all nothing more than lowly Scots. And my future subjects, at that...though you don’t know it yet.”

  Maria smiled and pushed the window shut. “We may already be guilty of treason for defying his wishes, but I don’t think it will do to give away state secrets.”

  “Charles’s ways are no secret to anyone, child. But to answer your question, we’ll be long gone before he condescends to pay a visit to the Great Michael. He’ll certainly not come with night falling.”

  Maria stared at her aunt for a moment and then crossed the cabin to the peg where her cloak hung.

  “We are not ready to go, yet.” Isabel said. “We have to wait until that lovely young navigator comes to escort us.”

  “I know...I know.” Maria answered, unable to shake the thought of how far away they would be when night found them again. She wrapped the cloak around her with a shiver. “But suddenly, Isabel, I’m feeling a bit cold.”

  Chapter 16

  The erupting fireworks out on the Groenplaats drew Maria once again to the window.

  From her window of the elegant upper floor bedchamber that she’d been shown to, the young queen peered out at the carnival like atmosphere on the crowded green. No doubt the good clergy in the darkened cathedral across the way were cringing in horror at such festivities in the middle of Lent. No, she realized with a laugh, there is the Cardinal himself, surrounded by his entourage, clearly enjoying the noise and the multicolored bursts.

  Pieter, the Macpherson’s rotund little steward, had told her that the merchants in Antwerp had arranged for this display as a welcome for King Jamie’s delegation. In the short time that Maria had been in the city before her thwarted escape, she had seen a number of these fireworks displays from the Palace windows. She squinted her eyes to see through the smoke resulting from the last blasts, looking toward the spot near his statue, where the Emperor liked to watch the fiery exhibitions. The breeze quickly dispersed the cloud, and Maria could just make out the royal party. She couldn’t see John, though, and a pang of disappointment struck her.

  “Don’t be a fool, Maria,” she muttered quietly to herself, continue to scan the crowd. Picking up the brush she had laid aside, she drew it through her still damp hair. One thing about the citizens of Antwerp, she thought, they are happy for any excuse to celebrate. And certainly, the fanfare this time must have been favored by the Emperor. He was, most assuredly, quite delighted for this diversion of his guests while he continued to search for the object of their mission.

  Absently, Maria began to weave her hair into a thick, black braid as she watched a young man climb a ladder to the top of the tall wooden post that held the next round of fireworks. After a moment during which Maria watched him exchange laughing remarks with the crowd below, he finished his preparations and scurried to the ground. Taking a long handled torch, the young man ignited the fireworks and retreated with the scattering throng that encircled the post. This series of explosions were deafening, and the windows of Maria’s room rattled violently. When the blasts ceased, Maria smiled as she espied the young man bowing to his appreciative audience before running off to the next pillar of explosives.

  The trip from the harborside into the city to the Groenplaats and the Macpherson’s townhouse had been, to Maria’s delight, quick and uneventful. She had never any cause to enter any of the huge, stone houses that lined the open square, and Hart Haus, the Macpherson home, was an exquisite surprise. As Maria had stepped into the foyer beyond the massive oak door, the sight of the huge marble statue of a deer, his antlers spreading a good three yards, had immediately conveyed to Maria that the owners of Hart Haus were extraordinary people.

  Though modest in size compared with the palaces and the castles she had lived in, Hart Haus was easily the most comfortable and most sumptuously furnished home she had ever seen. Even the Emperor’s private chambers were austere in comparison. Besides, though Maria had never been impressed with the showy grandeur of a Palace, there was a warmth that suffused this home, and that warmth had nothing to do with its rich furnishings. There was a sense of harmony, a happiness that seemed to fill Hart Haus, and Maria felt it the moment she entered its walls.

  When they’d arrived, David had spoken briefly to the steward and then taken his leave, ushering Maria’s aunt through the growing crowds of townspeople. Pieter, the portly steward, proved to be a kindly man with a slight hunch to his back and a sparkle of wit in his eye. Scattering the onlooking servants before him with jovial commands, he led her from the entryway into a large hall, no doubt where members of the household gathered for meals as well as most other activities. At the end of the room, a crackling fire warmed the air and lit up the white-washed walls.

  As Pieter escorted her to the wide stairs leading up from the Great Room, Maria gazed at the rich, vibrantly colored paintings that adorned the high walls. Ambrose Macpherson has more paintings than the Medicis, she thought, ascending the steps. She would have loved to take the time to stop and study them.

  They were everywhere, she realized, looking at the works that graced the walls of her bedchamber. In the stairways, the corridors. All through the house. Magnificent paintings. Only as she sat soaking–courtesy of Pieter–in an ornately carved wood tub, luxuriating in the warm, jasmine scented water, did Maria realize that these paintings that so impressed her were all Elizabeth Macpherson’s work. The importance of what Isabel had relayed to her, about Elizabeth being an accomplished painter, had not truly sunk in until she had entered Hart Haus.

  Now, dressed and feelin
g quite human again, Maria stood and watched as the last of the fireworks were exploded. The aroma of warm bread and fish wafted into the room, and the young woman was suddenly conscious of a rumbling response in her belly. A serving girl knocked softly at a side door, and led Maria into an adjoining sitting room, where a table had been laid with platters of food, fresh fruit, and wine.

  Pieter greeted Maria, clapping his fleshy hands together with obvious delight. “Ah, Lady Maria! How lovely you look!”

  “Thank you, Pieter.”

  The steward ushered his guest to the table where a group of servants waited to serve her. The treatment she was receiving was fit for a queen, Maria thought. And no one knew it better than she. She wasn’t sure what David had said of her to these people, but Pieter was making sure that no effort was spared to ensure her comfort.

  A part of her wished she could wait and take her meal later, perhaps with John, but she knew there was very little chance of him returning soon. She knew all too well the ceremonial affairs of her brother’s court on the arrival of important foreign visitors. There would be, no doubt, a number of lengthy speeches that John would have to endure before Charles was done with him. And he would never be able to escape the dinner and subsequent entertainment. It being Lent, Maria was fairly certain that some dreadfully somber morality play would conclude the evening. It would be very late before John returned to Hart Haus.

  As she accepted the proffered chair and sat at the table, a stab of regret shot through her at the thought that she might never see him again. Isabel had said that they might be leaving with the morning tide. If that were so–and if John were held up at the Palace–then she had seen John Macpherson for the last time.

  For the last time.

  “Are you well, m’lady?” Pieter’s voice was filled with concern.

  Maria glanced up and forced down the knot in her throat. “I am well, Pieter.”

  The dinner was as exquisite as the setting, and Maria felt a bit guilty enjoying it as much as she did. Reluctantly at first, Pieter sat with her when she asked him. But Maria had many questions to ask, and he proved a affable dinner companion.

  “How wonderful Lady Elizabeth’s paintings are, Pieter!” Maria said sincerely as she finished her meal.

  “So true, my lady. We are blessed to be surrounded by such treasures.”

  “Does she sculpt, as well.” She sipped at her wine. “The statue of the hart in the foyer–it is so lifelike.”

  “Indeed it is, m’lady. It is the work of a sculptor named Pico, a protégé of Michelangelo himself. It came directly from the studio of the Maestro in Florence.” The steward beckoned to a waiting man who trotted to the table with a crystal decanter. “Would you care for more wine, Lady Maria?”

  “Oh, I can’t. Thank you so much, though.” Maria smiled at the man. “She is so talented a woman!”

  The independence she must feel, Maria thought. To practice the art of painting. To act as she thinks she should, against all odds. To fight tradition, to practice what few if any women had the courage to do. Maria had never heard of another woman painting, and these things amazed Maria. She, herself, was a queen–sister to the Emperor. Her word had never been questioned; her wishes served as the minister’s commands. But she had never been able to step away from the obstacles of tradition and the restraints of habit, at least not enough to make a real difference. Not in her life and not in the lives of those around her. Maria had ideas, but she’d always lacked courage, it seemed to her now. Seeing Elizabeth’s work drove that message in deeply.

  But that was in the past, she thought resolutely. She would make a difference in the future.

  “Would you like to see her studio, Lady Maria?” Pieter was smiling at her, his eyes twinkling.

  “She has a studio here, in this house?”

  “Of course! And I believe she would like you to see it.” The steward pushed himself to his feet. “Give me just a moment to ready everything. If you’d be pleased to make yourself comfortable here, I’ll return for you.”

  With a quick bow, Pieter crossed the room and disappeared into the corridor, moving quite nimbly for a man his size, Maria thought. Leaning back in her chair, she gazed at the portrait of an elderly couple. The woman, sitting in the foreground, was still quite striking in her looks, and the man, ruggedly handsome in his Highland gear, stood behind her, his hands affectionately resting on his wife’s shoulders. Maria smiled. No doubt John’s parents–he resembled both of them. The two looked so real. She wondered, vaguely, what the rest of his family were like.

  From what she’d learned already, since the birth of their young children, Ambrose and Elizabeth could only manage, at most, three or four visits to Hart Haus each year. The demands of the diplomat’s life apparently took on less importance as his family grew. But the house in Antwerp–as was the case with many of their other holdings–they liked to keep open year round, offering its warmth and hospitality to family members and friends who might be traveling to this center of culture and trade.

  It would have been a pleasure to meet this Elizabeth Macpherson, Maria thought sadly. But the way everything seemed now, that meeting would never occur. Even more than the warmth and hospitality that surrounded her now, Maria felt the same loneliness that pervaded her entire life up to this point. And it was the same loneliness that she saw in a bleak and empty future.

  Once again she busied herself in the study of Elizabeth’s artwork.

  The quiet shuffle of an elderly serving man entering the room drew Maria’s attention. He made a half bow from the doorway and held out his hand.

  “A letter for you, m’lady,” he croaked, crossing to the table as Maria stood. “A messenger delivered it only a moment ago.”

  Maria’s heart sank. It must be bad news, she thought. Perhaps John had confided in her brother about finding two women at sea! Taking the note from the servant with an anxious nod, she quickly broke open the wax seal and scanned the letter’s contents. Letting out a sigh of relief, she sat back in her chair. It was from Isabel.

  There was nothing wrong. Isabel’s tone was reassuring. But there was a slight change in their plans. Isabel’s contacts had left the city but were expected back inside of a week. Maria was to stay where she was until their return, and Isabel herself would stay at her friends’ house. In the meantime, Isabel would try to find out what was occurring at the Palace, and try on her own to secure passage for them.

  Maria read her aunt’s letter again. There was nothing to worry about, she told herself again. Just use caution and avoid public attention–there were many in the city who might recognize Maria as the Emperor’s sister. That was all Isabel had recommended.

  A week, Maria thought. A week.

  Maria folded the note and carried it into the other room. Glancing around for a good place to keep it, she espied the great canopied bed and quickly slid the letter beneath one of the billowy down-filled pillows. Running her hand over the smooth linen of the bedclothes, the young woman considered her aunt’s words. Common sense told her that this shift in their plans was not for the better. But her heart told her this gift was a godsend. This was a chance she’d dreamed of. It was her chance to be with him.

  Feeling brighter than before, Maria was delighted to find the steward waiting for her as she reentered the sitting room.

  The tour of the house was a sheer delight for the young queen. Pieter showed her the many rooms with the pride of a lord. From the Great Room with its high, art-covered walls, to the library with its book lined shelves, the steward led the young woman, answering her questions and pointing out the treasures that Ambrose had collected over the years, as well as indicating the family members that showed up so lovingly in Elizabeth’s innumerable paintings.

  Thoroughly enjoying herself, Maria followed Pieter up yet another flight of stairs. The steps were following the slope of the ceiling here, and the young woman knew their tour was nearly at an end. Throughout the house, the steward had had candles and wick lamps lit,
and this upper room glowed, as well, with a golden light. Stepping through a narrow door at the top, they finished their tour in Elizabeth Macpherson’s studio.

  Enthralled, Maria circled the room. Wide, thick rolls of canvas, stacked in a far corner of the room, sat beside piles of wood strips. The young woman picked up one of the many framelike shapes that the wood was used to construct. It was lighter than she thought it would be. She wondered how heavy it would be with a piece of canvas stretched over it. Putting it down gently, she lifted the tops off a number of small casks that filled the shelves of an entire wall. Drab colored powders that hardly looked like the bright hues of Elizabeth’s paintings.

  Pieter read the puzzled expression on her face. “When the pigments are mixed with oil,” he told her, tapping one of the large barrels that stood nearby, “the colors come to life. Lady Elizabeth is a genius at mixing colors to produce the right shade. Truly a genius!”

  “I can see that,” she replied solemnly. Maria walked to huge glazed window that had been set into the sloping ceiling. Peering out, she could see nothing.

  Pieter’s eyes twinkled again as he pointed to a thick cord dangling by the door. “I’d hoped you would wish to see out.” Taking hold of the rope, he pulled on it, and the large wooden shutter that covered the outside of the window rolled away.

  Maria gazed in wonder at the city that stretched out before her. Beyond the next rooftop, the open square lay far below, the torches still lit from the earlier celebration. In the distance, she could see the city walls and beyond, the harbor. The mist that had welcomed their entry into the city had cleared away now, and the stars shone brightly in a black velvet sky.

  “This is incredible,” she whispered.

  “After marrying Lady Elizabeth, Sir Ambrose had a room like this added to every one of their holdings. She is so very talented, m’lady. And with her excellent reputation spreading as it is now, she finds herself eagerly sought after for royal portraits everywhere.” The steward’s voice was brimming with pride for his mistress. “She and the children always accompany Sir Ambrose on his trips.”